


Cavalier

by Nomanoah



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7234678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanoah/pseuds/Nomanoah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim has trouble sleeping and has to deal with an asshole in the morning, he's not happy about it, and he's partnered with said asshole. They get into crazy hijinx will they get out alive who knows. Also might be gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wicked Game

"You sleep coiled; tightly wound.  
Hands are fists beneath pillows,  
clenched above cotton sheets. 

You are at war, even in your dreams." 

The sun hadn't even broken through the sky. The world still cloaked in a blanket of night. Waking up for Tim wasn't hard; he'd mastered the skill during the first week of basic training. It was after years of service in the military when he realized that the hard part was getting to sleep. Tim could only sleep when exhausted. He knew he'd feel it around mid afternoon: the tiredness in his chest, slow breathing and thoughts dragging by in slow motion. On good days he'd get three hours of sleep, on bad days none. Should he doze later on he'd wake as soon as sleep came, always as fast as though a gunshot had sounded, heart beating fast and breathing as if he'd just surfaced from deep water. 

It was the nightmares that caused him to suffer sleeplessly throughout the night—though to him they were far simpler than that. They were memories. He spent his hours staring up at the ceiling above his bed, where he could follow the stains of water from the apartment above him, and the cracked off-white paint that crumbled to the touch around the single bulb that hung down, the only light fixture in the room. It wasn't that Tim couldn't afford a better place, he just didn't care. As long as the place provided somewhere to sleep and working hot water he wasn't complaining. 

He lazily rolled his head to rest the side of his face against the cool pillow, tossing an exhausted gaze to the red glow of his alarm clock that perched, ready to scream when the time turned to 7:00 until he silenced it with a slap of his hand. It was a wicked game he played with himself: the moment the clock made any noise, he jumped into an upright position on his bed and silenced it. 

It took him longer than he would have cared to admit to finally stand up off of his bed, bare feet pressed into the worn down carpet, a gift from Rachelle when he moved into the small apartment. He was pretty sure she only gave it to him to keep him from getting slivers or stepping on the "gross floor that probably has residue of semen or blood -- Tim why do you even live there?" He could hear her voice as he trailed across the room to the shower. 

One of his tragic faults was how long he showered for. Back in the military he hardly had time to clean himself, let alone enjoy the feeling of being drenched with warm water. So now, back home in Kentucky he found himself spending a good half hour standing motionless under scalding hot water, letting it wash away the sleepless nights and harsh memories that visited him when he did manage to fall asleep. 

The insistent ringing of his phone was what finally pulled him from his dazed thoughts, prompting him to turn off the shower and walk with a towel around his waist back to his room. His phone was pretty pathetic—an outdated, beat-up Blackberry with a cracked screen, some of the buttons faded from overuse. Not many people had his number, so he had a good few people in mind of who could be on the other end of the line before he picked it up. The phone lit up with a familiar name that drew a frown to his lips as he lifted it to his ear to answer without a decent 'hello.' 

"Arte, shouldn't you be out gettin' your coffee? Or are ya developing a taste for our shit Insta Blend?" The Insta Blend was the butt of many jokes around the workplace; it didn’t deserve to be called coffee, the taste was like drinking muddy water. Tim could have could have sworn he was able to hear the eye roll from the other side of the line. 

"You're funny, Tim. I'll send Raylan out to do that if he ever shows up. I was wonderin' if you've seen h--" Tim didn't give Arte time to finish his sentence. 

"We don't hang out, why would y'think I'd know anything?" Tim allowed a brief pause, as if to let Arte respond, but instead he quickly followed up with, "I'll pick up some coffee. I'll see y'soon." 

Hanging up on your boss without a proper goodbye was typically pretty bold, but Arte and him had been friends for some time. Tim even showed up to a barbeque at his house one time—thanks to Rachel's prodding and insisting—and it wasn't like he had a bad time. He just wasn't going to admit that he enjoyed himself. 

Not only did Tim have to get ready, but he now had to stop and pick up some coffee. With a small defeated sigh Tim pulled away the towel that had been covering him, rummaging through his drawers to find something appropriate to wear. He didn't have much variety when it came to his clothing. He owned a suit or two that he kept hung up in the closet, and the rest of his clothes were neatly folded away in a small dresser with only three drawers. Pants, shirts, underwear and socks—all of which were different shades of black or navy. Having decided on a dark blue button down and dark jeans, he picked up his badge that rested neatly beside his alarm clock on the side table. 

His thoughts wandered to Raylan, who had been in the Marshal service for quite some time. It was a shame that he had to come back to Kentucky. Not because he had to leave Miami, but because now Tim had to deal with his bullshit. 

Tim wasn't exactly surprised that Raylan was missing in action; it's not like the man ever came in to work on time. Except for the times when he wasn't supposed to be there. He was probably out in some dirty motel hooking up with some woman he managed to swoon into staying the night with him. 

There weren't many people in the office when Tim had arrived; just a few stragglers here and there who had stayed overnight to work on overdue paperwork. They were easy to point out since they all shared dark bags under their eyes, similar to Tim's. Some of them eyed the tray of coffee that he held out in front of him; like vultures ready to snag a cup from the unsuspecting deputy. 

"Alright, mind your own," Tim heard the familiar voice of one of his closest and only friends pipe up from the zombie crowd, the woman eying down the coffee cultures with a glare that could shoot a wolf back into its den. 

"Well this is a sweet sight for sore eyes," Rachel said brightly as she took it upon herself to take the tray, easily able to pick hers out that had been labeled with her name and a smiley face. Without him even having to say or do anything, Rachel already knew he had a rough night. She touched his shoulder gently. "How 'bout you take it easy today, alright? If Arte comes your way, just give me the signal and I'll create a diversion to get you out." She flashed another smile before taking a seat at her desk. 

Tim wasn't sure if he should ask about Raylan. He really shouldn't care, yet he couldn't hold himself back from asking Rachel before he took a seat at his desk. "Has Raylan shown up?" 

Tim probably could have answered his own question if he had just casted a glance at Raylan's desk beside him in between the glass fixture that separated them. That dumb cowboy hat sat perched on top of the desk absolutely littered with paperwork that Tim had a nagging feeling he would end up having to take over at some point. Tim didn't even hear Rachel's answer, having already spotted the man in the office with Arte. Probably, Tim hoped, he was getting some sense knocked into him about coming in late for what seemed to be the hundredth time since he started working there not even two months ago. 

"Know what would be cool--?" Tim started, as he turned his attention to Rachel who was already indulging herself in the last few sips of her coffee, a slight quip in her eyebrow gave him the permission to continue. 

"—is if Arte just punched him in the face." It was a childish and stupid comment, but they both flashed grins at one another as they pictured the scene. Fortunately for Raylan, it didn't play out. The tall deputy lumbered his way back to his own desk, pausing when he spotted the tray of two more coffees still resting on Rachel's desk, one labeled “Raylan.” His cool gaze slipped towards Tim. 

"That's a little unexpected, 'preciate it." Raylan reached for the cup, realization hitting him like a harsh slap to the face when he lifted it and noticed the cup was completely empty. 

"Thought you might like the taste of bitter disappointment in the mornin'." 

Rachel snorted.


	2. Chapter Two

The office was filled with idle chatter and the ringing of phones, Tim glanced at the clock for what seemed to be the hundredth time. It wasn’t even two yet. The rest of the room was silent besides the click clacks of keyboards and the occasional squeak when someone would swivel their chair. A quick glance to the desk beside him made it clear that Raylan was MIA again, probably doing everything in his power to avoid doing his own damn paperwork. While Tim was beginning to feel the effects of his sleepless night, trying not to keep his eyes closed for too long or he might just pass out. That coffee wearing off much too quickly.

“Gutterson!” Art’s familiar bellow shot Tim’s head up like the crack of a gun, he didn't let the man call him twice. With a loud groan and the squeak of his chair he pushed himself up and slumped into the glass office of the Chief Deputy Marshal. The older man didn’t look pleased, he never really did. But now especially, there was that familiar scowl on his face that usually popped up when Raylan has pissed him right off. 

Could it have been an act of a spiteful god that had possessed Art to call Tim into his large glass office, or perhaps it was just Tim’s dumb luck that morning. His boss pairing him up with the rambunctious cowboy for a fugitive case. Was it punishment? Perhaps. But Tim couldn't see any reason why he had to be Raylan’s babysitter. Might as well have just slid him underneath the wheel of his truck and ease his foot down on the gas.

The case seemed simple enough, a man by the name of Gregory Teraldson was an arms dealer. There was a warrant for his arrest and he skipped the state for a couple months and was just recently spotted back in Kentucky.

Tim’s silent look towards his boss said enough, and Raylan was all too eager to be getting out of that office. Grabbing his hat off his desk, Raylan quickly left the room without so much of a goodbye. Tim sluggishly following suite with a little roll of his eyes to Rachel who in turn made a barfing motion and wished him luck with a sympathetic smile.

They of course took Raylan’s Lincoln, which was fine. Tim didn’t feel all like driving anyway. The car ride was quiet for about the first ten minutes pulling out of the parking lot and getting onto the main road. Hell, Tim had nearly fallen asleep. His elbow leaning on the arm rest and his head in his hand. Eyes just closing when Raylan opened his mouth. At first Tim didn’t catch what he said, 

“Hmm?” the younger marshal mumbled out, giving a side eye to his driver with a cock of an eyebrow. 

“I said,” “if you want to go to take a nap I can handle this alone,” Raylan looked over at his passenger, sure his voice was oozing with empathy, but even half asleep Tim could see through it. 

“And let you have all the fun? I don’t think so,” he huffed sitting up straighter, however tempting it was to go back home and sleep the day away. He knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Art had given them a lead, their fugitive had stopped at a gas station and managed to pick himself up an ATV and took off which didn’t give the two deputies much to go on, on where he could end up.

There was another long silence, long enough for Tim to nearly doze off again, the black Lincoln pulling to a stop at an arbitrary pink house on the side of the main road leading out towards the boondocks of Harlan county. Raylan turned to look at Tim,“Do y’think he’d stop to check in on his wife?” 

“Doubt it,” he answered, stifling yawn as he stepped out of the vehicle. Watching Raylan do the same and look around, “The man’s been away from Kentucky for well over a year, there’s no way he hasn’t found a new girl, ” Tim shrugged, “But yeah, let’s check on the wife.”

“Why are you like this?” 

“Like what?” Tim countered without missing a beat as they headed up the front walkway together. 

“A sarcastic asshole,” Raylan huffed, hand resting above his gun as he placed a firm three hit knock on the screen door. Which cued the sound of a dog barking. More like yipping. The dog couldn’t have been bigger than a toaster oven. 

“It’s to hide my feelings, Raylan. You know that,” Tim let out another sarcastic remark, leaning over to the side to try and see through the curtains that blocked out the windows. Movement caught his eye, obviously someone was home. Hell, the car was still in the driveway. The house itself was strange, it stuck out like a sore thumb on the side of the road. One of those homes you’d pass on the way into town, ugly, unloved, you try to imagine the kind of people who would live there but you can’t. Could be anyone. Well Raylan and Tim got their answer,

Both the attention of the deputies turned back towards the door when they heard the click of a few locks and the door knob turn. In front of them stood a woman, petite. Very small, if she was an animal she’d be a mouse. A mouse who smoked two packs a day and didn’t get a lick of sleep her entire life. Dark bags under her eyes and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, she couldn’t have been more than thirty-five but life happened and she could’ve passed for fifty.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Raylan started, he was much better with woman, Tim was preoccupied with the tiny white dog that looked more like a marshmallow than a dog. Currently being held in the woman’s arms, growling at the two men. Tim rose his eyebrows,

“Hello gentleman,” the woman flashed a welcoming yellow smile as she took a sidestep to allow the two men into her home if they wished to enter, “how may I help you?” Tim wasn’t buying it,

“Sorry to disturb you, but I’m sure you’ve been made aware that your husband is back in town. If you know of his whereabouts you need to let us know,” Raylan’s voice was stern as he took a step inwards towards the house, eyes raking the surrounding area before returning his gaze back to the small woman. 

“Is anyone else home?” 

“It’s just me and, Tiddles,” she smiled holding up her dog as an indication of who Tiddles was. In case the two marshal’s couldn’t put two and two together. Tim smirked, stepping into the building after Raylan and looking around. 

It was a shabby home, a bungalow from the guess of it. He couldn’t imagine they’d have an upstairs or attic in such a small home. The floors were carpeted with something you’d pull out of an antique shop, and interestingly enough on the kitchen table sat two plates. Two place settings, and Tim doubted one was for the dog. 

Grabbing Raylan’s attention with a nod towards the kitchen, once he acknowledged the evidence, Tim went to look around while Raylan had an interview with the woman. 

Whatever she and this mysterious guest had, it didn’t look as though they managed to get through all the food. A hand on his gun, Tim moved his search further into the house, warily moving towards closed doors. Reaching out to grab the knob, turning it slowly. He didn't have a chance to open the door when he heard a loud thud that sounded familiar to that of something metal hitting someone head. 

“Raylan!” Tim called out turning in his heel to return to the living room, the other deputy on the ground. Knocked out. Greg Tareldson loomed over him, shooting a mad look to Tim when he entered the area. The wife was missing. 

“hands where I can see ‘em, Greg,” Tim lifted his gun as the man slowly rose his hands. His eyes never meeting Tim's. They were watching behind him. Realization hit him hard, about as hard as a metal frying pan hitting him square in the back of the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't written this in awhile, yikes. Sorry team.


End file.
